


Littler Things

by Chummy



Series: Warm Summer Nights [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Other, Techno dealing with his brothers trauma, he also has trauma, smp canon can choke theyre BROTHERS, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chummy/pseuds/Chummy
Summary: Wilbur smiles, hands clasped in an eager display, as if waiting for them to start. Techno’s mind reels and he remembers suddenly, why this was a bad idea, and wonders, how the fuck did he ever forget.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Series: Warm Summer Nights [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099811
Comments: 8
Kudos: 138





	Littler Things

_ One morning this sadness will fossilize _

_ And I will forget how to cry. _

_ The breeze is warm. Techno is slightly sweaty despite the shade the tree he's under provides him. His fingers leave damp impressions on the pages of his book.  _

_ There’s a soft tickling sensation cascading on his thighs that he’s been ignoring since he’d sat down to read.  _

_ It’s Wilbur. Young, humming quietly under his breath as to not disturb Techno’s reading.  _

_ Sitting next to him, pulling at the grass beneath them and scattering the leaves onto Techno’s legs. He glances up from the pages to the growing pile on his legs, Wilbur’s going to create a patch of dirt at the rate he’s going.  _

_ Still Techno doesn’t move, not wanting to risk the collapse of his brother's meticulous grass tower. Next to him Tommy naps, hair adorned with leaves and sticks that Wilbur had put in his hair before moving onto decorating Techno’s legs.  _

_ “Are you bored?” he asks, voice low, melding into the soft quiet that had built around them. _

_ Wilbur smiles but shakes his head. “It’s a nice day.” He says, somewhat faraway and content.  _

_ Techno nodded and returned back to his book. _

It had been a nice day. 

Techno relives the aching memory as he watches a translucent hand dig into the weeds of his garden and pull them out to lay across equally translucent legs. 

It’s Wilbur. Older and humming a different but familiar tune. 

The “ _ Stop fucking with my garden _ ” fights against the “ _ What the fuck how are you here? You died, _ ” in his throat and comes out a jumbled squawk of noise that vaguely remembered the shape of words. 

But it catches Wilbur’s attention and Techno wants to wake up from this nightmare he’s been living for too long. 

Wilbur smiles, pale face and glowing eyes. Smiles so wide Techno would be concerned for his cheeks hurting. Smiles like the child Techno failed to protect, like the child Techno taught how to fight, like the child Techno  _ misses _ so much. 

It’s only when he sees him smile like that that he realized he’d missed it so much. 

When it’s much too late. When Wilbur is dead and Techno is hallucinating him. 

Wilbur is dead, he doesn’t need to convince himself he thinks. The memory of his bloodied body and his fathers sword are very fresh and very real to be anything but  _ convincing. _

Wilbur is still smiling when Techno blinks and shakes his head. Wilbur is gone when he opens his eyes again. 

Wilbur is gone. 

There’s a pile of grass where he sat, Techno pretends not to notice it. 

-

Pushing away the images of Wilbur comes easy. Techno is thankful for that and doesn’t allow the guilt about being thankful for it to creep in by keeping busy. Luckily he has more than enough on his hands to keep his mind from buzzing and making him see Wilbur in every corner of his house, in the shadows the sun casts, behind him in the mirror. 

Techno doesn’t have time for guilt, doesn’t have time to mourn, at least not properly. Plus it wouldn’t do anyone good if he started to fall apart only a few days into Tommy staying with him.

Tommy, to no surprise, is a wonderful distraction. Not in a good way, just in that  _ if you look away the house will crash and burn but _ Techno will take what he can get. Moments spent fussing and arguing with Tommy are moments Wilbur doesn’t appear at the edges of his vision, pushing memories to the forefront of his mind with grinding steps. 

“I know it’s a lost cause to ask you but can you sit still for two seconds? I’m gonna end up poking out your eyes,” Techno gruffs out, holding the very dainty needle in his fingers menacingly at Tommy. It shines in the sunshine, Tommy only laughs. 

“You’re fixing my clothes, how would you poke my eye?” Tommy says, in a  _ ‘haha you’re so stupid Techno’  _ way, that he should be used to after all the years spent listening to it. 

Techno lightly pokes at one of Tommy’s twiddling fingers with the sharp end, not enough to hurt, just shock, smirking at the gasp and pout he gets in return. “With how much you’re moving it’s very likely.” 

Tommy huffs and squares his shoulders with an exaggerated breath and Techno counts the seconds until Tommy inevitably brings up a hand to tug at his collar or poke at his shirt. 

It’s the middle of the afternoon and Techno is taking advantage of the heavy sunshine to tailor clothes that Tommy can use. 

Tommy had been at his house for a little over a week now. Spending most of those days asleep, huddled in front of the fire, eating at ungodly hours of the day and being a general menace at Techno’s side. Only going outside when the sun was at its brightest before seeking the warmth of the house again.

But even with the general anxiety that Tommy couldn’t seem to shake off, Techno could see how restless he was getting from being inside. He really could never sit still. 

So Techno had cut Tommy’s daily porch visit, where he stands, hands outstretched to the warm sun as his shoulder shivered from the snowy breeze, short. Tugging him inside where he laid out piles of old coats, capes, pants and shirts that he’d long outgrown. He doesn’t really know why he kept them but is glad to put them to use again. 

“If you want to go out again without losing a few limbs, don’t move so I can finish faster,” he says, pulling the needle through fabric. He was fixing the length of an old cape, and it’s fastening so it would fit Tommy better. 

“I’m going to grow old and die at this rate, you’re going to bury me in these,” Tommy says, reaching out to try and smear his fingers across his glasses, but Techno swats the hand away and continues. 

“One more word and I'm gonna make you do this so I can watch you struggle to pull thread through a needle,” he threatens, and means it. It is hilarious to watch, remembering the few times their dad tried to show them how to repair basic tears and Tommy, would somehow, make it worse. 

“I’ve gotten better!” Tommy exclaims, ruffling the cape on his shoulders dramatically. 

Techno chuckles, fixing the neckline Tommy had just disheveled. “Oh yeah I can tell, from the holes you had in your shirt.”

“I don’t know if you know this Techno, but needles and thread don't grow on trees, they’re a bit hard to come by when you’re exiled,” Tommy says, bitingly sarcastic and rolling his eyes in a way that reminds him of himself. 

Techno only hums, continuing his tailoring as the air around them tenses a bit. 

They  _ still  _ haven’t talked about it. What exactly happened and why and how. They really haven’t talked about much of anything, staying as far away as possible from the war and Wilbur and  _ everything.  _ Tommy doesn’t even offer the barest of information, only the word  _ exile, exile, exile, _ each time angrier and sadder than the last. 

Techno isn’t sure when to bring it up, nor how, but Tommy must know it’s going to happen eventually. Yet Techno doesn’t stop him when he changes topics rather obviously, nervously picking at his hands and laughing in a way that’s so empty it unnerves Techno.

So he just rolls with it, pokes at Tommy’s hands to stop him from tearing them apart and talks about the weather with him. 

Tommy always sighs in relief, Techno isn’t sure why it pains him to hear it. 

-

The house is quiet. Techno is thankful for it, as quiet had become so hard to come by lately. Tommy is asleep, huddled up in furs he took from Techno’s closet without asking, in front of the fire. On the couch that he moved closer to the fireplace, throwing off Techno’s entire decor. 

How annoying.

Still he didn’t move him, only added logs to the fire hoping that keeping Tommy warm would preserve the rare stillness in the house.

He’s doing his cleaning rounds upstairs when he hears it. 

_ “He looks so small like that,”  _ giddy and whispered, like a passing wind. Techno whips around, heart racing and blood rushing into his ears, to the empty room. 

It was still, save for himself, and for the quiet snores he could hear coming from downstairs. 

“What the fuck?” he whispers to nothing. Had it really been nothing? The wind? Tommy talking in his sleep? He knows what his  _ voices _ sound like, knows what that feels like, how the creep from the back of his neck to the forefront of his mind. 

_ That _ wasn’t it. Whatever that was.

He wants to ignore it. He almost does when he hears it again. 

_ “So small!”  _ hushed yet excited. It sounds so familiar it makes Techno’s blood run cold. He takes the stairs two at a time and doesn’t dare let his mind run on possibilities, because his mind had never been kind to him. 

At the bottom of the steps, breathing hard and reaching for a sword that isn’t there, he freezes. He’s sure the snow outside stopped falling and the ticking of the clock paused. 

_ Wilbur.  _ Pale and yellow and  _ standing in his living room.  _ Watching over the sleeping figure as if it’s the first time seeing Tommy. Techno watches the fire dance across Wilbur’s  _ translucent  _ skin. Watches muted eyes widen with unfiltered  _ joy _ at the sight of him. Wilbur smiles and it’s too much for Techno to bear. 

He turns and stomps up the stairs, heart in his throat, shaking his head as if to clear the image, so hard his ponytail comes undone, fanning his hair along his face in uneven strands. Tickling his neck and ribs in a way much too overwhelming for that moment. He breathes sharply, stinging his throat and lungs as he ties his hair up again, fast and uncoordinated as his mind races. 

_ Wilbur. Again. _

It couldn’t have been. But it was, standing in his house in the middle of the afternoon as if he hadn’t witnessed his death,  _ his death,  _ only a few weeks ago. 

He died.

He doesn’t need that reassurance but it’s there, at the forefront of his mind. The images clear. The tears on his fathers and Wilbur face. The scream that had ripped through Tommy at the sight. The way his nerves went cold and rage clouded his body. 

Tommy had still been crying when Techno set those skulls on their crosses. Tommy had still been screaming, his father had still been mourning, Techno wanted it all to go away. 

Wilbur was gone. His brother was gone. He’d seen it. Undeniable and unforgettable he’d seen it. 

His head quiets to a hum, white noise as he grips the rails and takes the steps down again. His eyes are closed on the final step, he doesn’t breathe when he opens it.

Wilbur is gone. 

The space above Tommy is empty, sun rays and trails of smoke all that welcome Techno as he searches around, praying he finds nothing. 

There’s nothing. A bird chirps in the distance, time begins again. 

A trick of the light. He tells himself. His mind playing tricks on him, he thinks. 

His mind has never been kind to him anyways, he breathes in that truth. Consoling and bitter, he breathes. 

-

Tommy grows more restless as the days pass. The sun rises and Tommy along with it, Techno passes it off as him getting his fill of uninterrupted sleep but seeing how Tommy chews at his lips and bounces his legs, it’s more anxiety than anything. 

Techno doesn’t know what he’s anxious about. Sure  _ exile _ , but he takes notice of how he flinches if Techno moves too fast, talks too loud, if a tree falls in the forest Tommy will hear it and start pacing. 

He understands the flinching, it’s  _ understandable,  _ it’s not like they had the most pacifist past. But it doesn’t feel like Tommy is afraid of  _ him _ exactly. But of figures unseen, memories Tommy hasn’t allowed Techno to be privy to yet. 

He ran out of clothes to alter and chores to run, together the both of them had stocked full ice chests and ice chests of meat and cultivated his garden and cleaned the house inside and out. He had let Tommy clean his horse just to give his fidgeting hands  _ something. _

Techno is about to suggest repainting the walls when Tommy shoves his axe and bow at him. 

“What?” he arches his brow, they’d already cleaned and sharpened every single one of his blades the day before. A past time that ended with bandaged fingers and laughs. Mostly Techno laughing and Tommy bleeding. 

“Spar with me,” he says, his words are steady and his eyes steely and Techno opens his mouth to say  _ absolutely fucking not _ but doesn’t get the chance too. Tommy is already walking outside, sword in hand and steps heavy. 

Techno contemplates just leaving him out there and going to read a book, but he looks at Tommy through the window. His brows are pinched and he is looking at the horizon as if waiting for something,  _ someone,  _ to jump out and get him. 

Once again the question of  _ What the fuck happened during his two weeks? _ passes through Techno’s head, maybe it’s finally time for answers. 

He squares his shoulders and grips his weapons tightly. The wood underneath his hand is smooth, crafted lovingly and carefully. 

The sun is hot enough to have melted the morning snow, enough that he doesn’t need his cape and extra layers as he walks outside, standing a few feet in front of Tommy. 

_ It’s a nice day out _ , he wants to comment. Too nice a day to be fighting. A perfect day for fighting. The contradicting statements tug at each other until Techno decides, both can be true. 

Tommy’s gaze is still far away, literally and figuratively. Eyes looking past Techno to the clearing behind him and looking as if seeing nothing at all. 

He whistles, sharp and loud to catch his attention. It works to a startling degree. Tommys eyes snaps back to his, alert and tinged with  _ fear _ before settling underneath a mask of annoyance.

“I’m not a dog asshole,” he whips out, it’s more breathy and half hearted than Techno is used too, really expects from Tommy.

Slowly, more and more, the thought that this is probably a bad idea starts climbing up his throat. 

“You can’t spar if you aren’t paying  _ attention,”  _ he chastises.

“Yeah blah blah,” Tommy says opening and closing his hand in what must be a mockery of Techno. 

_ Childish _ . 

Is what wants to say, but the words die in his throat as he catches a shadow sitting underneath a tree behind Tommy. 

Wilbur smiles, hands clasped in an eager display, as if waiting for them to start. Techno’s mind reels and he remembers suddenly, why this was a bad idea, and wonders, how the fuck did he ever forget. 

_ Tommy’s so small. Barely coming up to Techno’s ribs when he pulls him outside, blabbering on and on about the older kids he saw sword fighting the other day.  _

_ “It was so cool! They were all like ‘bam!’ and ‘clang!’ and ‘whoosh!’” the hand that isn’t pulling Techno’s wrist is flailing in the air wildly, trying to push just how cool everything had been. “I wanna do that too!” he’d smiled and pretended to wave a fake sword through the air.  _

_ “Why don’t you ask those kids then?” Techno said. He had already practiced his swords that morning with his dad and wasn’t up for another round of it.  _

_ Tommy huffed and stomped his foot in a demure way, a habit he was trying and failing to grow out of. “Because they were cool but you’re cooler! Duh! They couldn’t even do cool tricks like you and dad.” Tommy stopped at the clearing where the grass no longer grew with how often Techno trampled it in his practicing. “Also they said I was too small. But they’re not even that much older! Why are older kids so weird!?” he shouted and Techno laughed. _

_ “I’m older, am I weird?” Techno teased, leaning down to flick Tommy’s ear.  _

_ “Ow! Yes you are! The weirdest! One of those kids was wearing a mask and you’re still weirder!” Tommy yowled, trying and failing to reach up to flick Techno’s ears. _

_ “Don’t be rude to your sword instructor,” he laughs, swatting at Tommy’s hands, which only makes him try harder. He leans down inconspicuously and lets out an exaggerated gasp of pain when Tommy reaches his ears. _

_ “Ahaha! Don’t be rude to your student next time!” Tommy grins, self satisfied and Techno can’t find it in him to be mad.  _

_ “You’re the one calling me weird.” _

_ “Because you are weird, I only tell the truth!” _

_ “You told Wil I lost his jacket the other day when it was you.”  _

_ “Anyways.” _

_ Techno laughs, bright and happy, ruffles Tommy’s hair and feels his laugh vibrate up his body.  _

_ The day is nice. Windy and sunny and Tommy is smiling. _

_ “Alright let’s do this,” he says and Tommy’s eyes brighten enough to rival stars. He gives Tommy one of his old training swords, tells him they’ll make him one soon. Tommy shakes his head in barely contained excitement.  _

_ He goes through the motions, teaching Tommy how to grip the sword, how to balance its weight so it doesn’t feel like a drag, holds his arm steady when it shakes, his hands over Tommy’s own smaller ones as they swing the sword in a horizontal swoop together.  _

_ There’s a buzzing in Techno’s ears, sweat dripping down his neck, he ignores it. It’s such a nice day after all. _

_ Tommy is laughing. Giddy and proud. A fast learner, bold despite the lack of training.  _

_ It’s his quick mind that asks Techno for a spar, his quick mind that Techno doesn’t say no. He’d go easy on him, teach him the motions slowly.  _

_ Techno wishes he had said no.  _

_ Swords clash, Tommy smiles, the buzzing in Techno’s head gets louder, the thrumming beneath his skin rises, he can feel his blood rushing through his veins.  _

_ Blood. Blood. Blood. _

_ He hears it. Calling, chanting, whispering.  _

_ Blood. _

_ Blood. _

_ Swords clash, Tommy isn’t smiling. Techno can’t hear over the swarm of voices in his head, in his lungs, all around him. He sees red and it’s the most beautiful shade he’s ever seen.  _

_ More. More. More.  _

_ Mo- _

_ “-Echno! Techno! Stop!” All at once he snaps back into his body. His head is spinning, his brain struggling to catch up with what the fuck just happened. He hears swords fall into the dirt with a metallic thump. Feels fingers on his wrists, digging and restraining, fingers on his jaw, soothing and soft.  _

_ “What?” His throat feels raw, body lethargic, his ears are ringing. “What happened?” _

_ He looks up to see Wilbur’s worried eyes staring back at him. Brows furrowed and lip quivering. It only riles Techno up more when he doesn’t answer.  _

_ “Wh-“ He’s cut off by a sob. Heartbreaking and terrified. Tommy. Tommy’s crying.  _

_ Tommy clutches at his left hand where a slash of red tears into his fleshy palm, their dad is doing his best to soothe and bandage as Tommy cries and cries.  _

_ Techno can’t breathe. He moves to get to Tommy and shatters when Tommy flinches away from him.  _

_ “Tom,” he barely manages to get out. _

_ “You’re scaring me,” Tommy says, through hiccups and sobs, retreating as far as physically possible without climbing into their dads skin.  _

_ “I,” He doesn’t know where to start. He searches for the words, the apology, but nothing comes.The buzzing picks up against. He slams his hands against his ears and collapses to his knees.  _

_ “Techno!” He feels Wilbur’s shaky hands on his shoulders. Or maybe he’s the one who’s shaking. “Techno, stay with us.”  _

_ Whispers. Cackling laughter. Voices sink their teeth into his brain.  _

_ “No no, no, make it stop. Please I don’t want this,” he begs, pleads until his mouth runs dry, he pleads his voice hoarse.  _

_ “You’re okay Tech, It’s okay. Come back to us, it’s alright,” Wilbur’s voice. Shaky yet clear. Stern and so so worried. “We’re here, nothings going to happen.” _

_ Techno breathes. _

_ “No ones mad at you son, you’re okay I promise,” his fathers voice, loving and guiding. _

_ Techno breathes. _

_ “Please Tech, it’s okay,” Tommy’s voice, meek and scared but there. A lifeline he grips onto. _

_ Techno breathes. _

_ The voices are quiet.  _

_ “I’m sorry,” he breathes, knowing it’ll be the first of many. Knowing he’ll never be able to stop.  _

He rips himself from the memory like most things in his life, violently. Shuddering and freezing with cold sweat despite the sun beating down. He gasps and blinks and when he opens them again Wilbur is gone. Tommy is snapping his left hand in front of his face.

“Earth to Techno? Anybody home?” Tommy says and Techno’s eyes drag to the scar across his palm. Barely there but it’s  _ there.  _ He knows they both will never be able to forget it. 

He’d lost control of himself that day. For the first time. It was the first time his head swarmed with voices so vicious that sounded  _ just like him.  _ It scared him back then. He’d ended up hurting Tommy. Scarring Tommy. 

Wilbur had pulled them apart before Techno could do anything else. Throwing himself at his rampaging weapon yielding brother with little to no concern for himself. 

“Shut up Tommy,” he says. Jaw snapping shut as he tries to regain his footing again. Tommy, blessedly enough, does just that. 

He inhales the cold breeze and holds it in his lungs until it burns. Focuses on that and not the impending breakdown that’s clawing up his spine. 

He cannot have a meltdown right now. Not now. Not ever. Especially not in front of Tommy. Maybe in the night, where there’s only the darkness and stars too far away to judge him will he cry. But not now. 

He lets the breath go and opens his eyes to a Tommy who seems to be doing his best to give him privacy, staring at the bunnies that jump in the bushes ahead of him. 

Techno clears his throat, squares slightly shaking shoulders and jerks his head towards the house. 

“Put your armor on. I’m not sparring you unless you have armor.” 

Tommy opens his mouth and Techno fixes him a look that promptly shuts it.

“It’s non negotiable. Tommy.”

Tommy nods and trots back to the house, stabbing his sword into the soft ground below him to keep it standing. 

Techno catches his reflection in the metal. Feels the ghost weight of his mask kiss his cheekbones. 

He pushes up his glasses and stares at the sun. 

-

He'd just about grown used to Wilbur’s surprise appearances, writing it off as his many voices upgrading to torment him as atonement, when the universe decided to throw another curveball and then drop a mountain on him. 

It’s morning and he hasn’t slept. He’s tired in a familiar way, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he woke up one morning feeling actually refreshed. Off balanced probably, like if one piece of armor was heavier than the other, like if his skin was no longer his own. 

That's why when he hears voices drifting from the rooms below him he doesn’t so much as twitch. Voices are normal, voices are a part of him, they keep him company. 

It’s when the voices start talking to  _ each other,  _ that he grows a bit confused. They’ve always just talked  _ at _ him, arguing and pestering and demeaning but never just,  _ conversed  _ with one another. 

“-as so much stuff for no reason, it’s crazy,” he catches the end of a sentence, and realizes suddenly. It’s Tommy’s voice, real voice, talking to…

Talking to who? 

He pads downstairs as quietly and as quickly as possible as he runs through a million possibilities of what he’s going to walk into. 

Dream? Their dad? Tommy finally snapped and talking to a wall?

He turns the corner and stops in his tracks. Of all things he was prepared for, Tommy talking and gesturing to a floating  _ Wilbur _ is not one of them. 

“Uhh,” he says, because his brain is short circuiting and he’s not sure what’s real and what isn’t anymore. 

“Morning,” Tommy says, nonchalantly before returning to rifling through Techno’s things. He opens his mouth to yell at him but doesn’t get the chance as Wilbur giggles and joins Tommy in his half assed looting. 

“What.” He says and dares a step forward as he tries to ground himself and convince himself he’s dreaming at the same time. But the floor under him is too cold and he hasn’t had a single non bloody dream in years.

“What do you mean  _ what? _ Hit your head?” Tommy scoffs and pulls out a bushel of apples, letting a few roll around on the ground as he struggles to pick the golden ripe ones. 

“What- no. Wait, stop taking my damn apples and,” he throws a look at Wilbur, who’s floating idly and playing with the curtains above him, “You can  _ see _ him?” 

Tommy stops then, turning with an apple halfway in his mouth, glancing back and forth between Techno and Wilbur. He pulls the apple out of his mouth and where Techno expects a laugh he gets a solid nod. 

“Yeah, have been since,” Tommy trails off,  _ Since he died, _ Techno fills in the blanks for him. 

“The whole time?” he asks, incredulously and not really expecting an answer. 

“Pretty much,” Tommy’s words seem heavy on his tongue. Tired. They’re both pretty tired. 

Techno doesn’t get to comment on it as Wilbur bounces over to him, excited and eyes glimmering, Wilbur touches a hand to Techno’s wrist and he doesn’t know if it’s self control of his muscles freezing up that stops him from flinching away.

“It’s so good to see you! I thought you couldn’t see me since you didn’t say anything the first few times! What a relief! I’ve missed you!” Wilbur’s words are exciting and his smile is wide, and he looks so young, so young so  _ young.  _

All at once the tidal wave of grief and guilt crashes down onto him, drowning him and if only it’d kill him, he wishes. Instead it makes him turn away, slowly, aching as his body felt like it weighed a million pounds, struggling to breathe. 

_ Do not break down now. Hold it together.  _ A mantra, a prayer, flowing through his veins as he pulled his wrist from ghostly hands and walked back up the stairs, trudging to his room with gasping breaths until his door was closed behind him and his eyes slid shut. 

_ I’ve missed you!  _

_ So have I _ . He wants to say, scream. He doesn’t. He’s missed Wilbur for so long, missed Tommy for so long, since the moment he started pushing them away, that afternoon so many years ago.

_ You’re scaring me! _

Tommy was so small. He never wanted Tommy to look like that again. Hed failed.

_ You’re okay Tech. _

Wilbur had been scared, but not of him,  _ for  _ him. Eyes full of worry and mouth full of reassurances a kid so small couldn't possibly be making. But Wilbur did, for Techno, because he believed anything possible through sheer fucking will. 

_He’s not okay._ He tells Wilbur in his memories. _I’m so sorry._ He tells Wilbur who haunts his dreams, the corpse that follows him, gorey and angry and _mad._ _I failed you_. He wants to say to the ghost in his house. 

There’s a sob branding itself in his throat, burning and burning. Engulfing him in a sadness he doesn’t have the tools to put out. His shoulders are shaking and he isn’t breathing and his brothers are a floor below him.

He presses a hand to his mouth, stifles a cry, opens his jaw to bite into the meat of his palm when that doesn’t seem to work. The pain is grounding, familiar and unkind. There’s blood in his mouth and trailing down his wrist and the fire behind his eyes is slowly put out. He doesn’t know how long he stays there. It’s long enough for his legs to go numb and for Tommy to come searching for him. 

He slides his fingers across the lock on his door just in time for Tommy to knock and try to open it. He hears a sigh, he feels it in his bones.

“Techno,” Tommy’s voice comes slightly muffled past the thick wood, but his tone is light and questioning, Almost worried.

He takes a breath, slumps his head back against the door and lets it out with a gruff “What.”

It’s quiet for a second, Techno can hear Tommy twiddling his fingers, stumbling on what to do next. It makes Techno smile, just a bit.

“Can I come in?” 

It’s Techno’s turn to think. The immediate answer is  _ No.  _ He’d welcome death sooner than letting Tommy see him in his state. But if Tommy is anything it’s persistent. He sighs, again, rubs at his eyes until he sees stars and stands on unsteady legs.

“Give me a second.” He reaches for the roll of bandages in his drawers, wrapping it around his bitten hand down his forearm and tugging his sleeves down over it. Before turning the lock on his door with a loud telling  _ click _ . 

He doesn’t open the door for Tommy, turning to sit on his unused bed, listening to his footsteps enter and close the door behind him.

Tommy looks around the room as if he hasn’t seen it before and Techno considers how much time he’ll give him before he kicks him out. 

Tommy stands. Techno waits. They’re both tired. 

“When did you first see him?” Tommy’s voice is small, looking down at the floor, Techno’s throat threatens to close up again. 

“A few days ago, in the garden,” he replies and watches Tommy’s shoulders sag a bit in equal parts relief and sadness. 

“I thought you knew,” he pauses, breathes, “About  _ him _ I thought you knew.” 

“I didn’t.” He doesn’t know how to feel now that he  _ does. _ Would rather he didn't. 

It’s quiet again. The atmosphere seems to tug at Tommy’s body until he’s sitting on the floor in front of Techno, knees to his chest, head laying across from them.

“I thought I was going crazy when he first showed up,” Tommy starts and Techno snorts softly, that makes two of them. “Thought I was just grieving or whatever,” the ends of his words are muffled as he turns his head into his arms, sniffling into his elbow. “Then he came and talked to me and I was so,” Techno watches his arms strain as he tightens them around himself, he wants to look away, he cant. “Mad, Techno I was so mad. I wanted to yell and scream and tell him to fuck off and you know what happened?” 

The question is rhetorical, even if it wasn’t Techno would never have the right answers. He never does. 

“He doesn’t remember a thing.” 

The room is still, save for Tommy’s shaking shoulders as it escalates into a laugh devoid of any humor at all. Techno fists the soft sheets beneath him and wills himself to keep it together. 

“Not a single fucking thing, He was so happy to see me. He doesn’t even know how he died, how he was,  _ what _ he was,” Tommy’s gasping and sniffling and Techno is almost thankful he hasn’t lifted his head because he doesn’t know what to do with a sobbing Tommy. 

“He’s so happy like he used to be,” his voice cracks and ends on a cry. “What changed? What did I do wrong Techno? What did I do-“ Tommy trails off into a breaking sob. Techno wonders how long it’d been since he’d cried like this, about everything that Tommy had been holding in, about how much he had a hand in it. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Tommy is in pain, so much pain and Techno can’t bandage it, Techno can’t clean the wounds, Techno can’t tell him to be more careful next time. Techno is a reason for his pain, his tears, his sadness. And still, Tommy is crying to  _ him. _ On his floors, in his house, in his clothes. 

He can’t leave him alone. Not like this. Not again. 

Techno is gentle, quiet as he moves, easy to be beneath the wails and pants of Tommy. He reaches out cautiously, refusing to admit the way his fingers shake in terror of being denied. 

Tommy’s hair is soft beneath his fingers, like it’s always been. He runs his other hand across clenched fingers and shaking shoulders, soothes them down Tommy’s back. Everything about Tommy has always been so  _ soft. _ He settles onto the floor with Tommy, tugging until Tommy is settled against his chest. Small and anguished, Tommy cries.

“You did nothing wrong,” The words are out before Techno can think about them. Tommy stills, Techno can feel tears sinking through his shirt. “You did nothing wrong Tommy, it isn’t your fault.” Tommy shakes his head vigorously against Techno, hiccuping and seemingly debating leaving and leaning completely against Techno. 

He shakes his head in return. “You did your best kid, like you’ve always done. And your two stupid brothers fucked that up. It wasn’t you.” He thanks the stars that he managed to not break down completely as he spoke, as he trembled with guilt and realization and wrecked with the apologies that could never make up for what he’s done. 

“I- I should’ve been w-with him,” Tommy says through stuttered breaths. His blood goes cold trying to picture it. Tommy trying to talk down a crazed Wilbur, Tommy with his sword through his chest. Techno continues to pet his hair, hoping to soothe, remembering the way Wilbur used to do to him, forcing the images away. 

“He had his mind made up Tom,” he says, chin resting on top of his head. “You know how he is when he decides something.”

“Stubborn bastard,” Tommy spits on a laugh interrupted by a sob. Techno smiles, sad and heavy. 

“Yeah, stubborn bastard.” 

“I miss him a lot,” Tommy’s fingers hold onto Techno’s shirt as he sags against him completely, drained. “Even when he was crazy, I miss him. We should’ve taken care of him.” And that shatters the broken pieces left of Techno.

Because it’s true.  _ He  _ should’ve, not Tommy, not anyone of their  _ friends. _ Techno, just like Wilbur had for him for years as children. He should’ve taken care of him, soothed and eased him away from his insane, suicidal ideals, but he  _ didn’t.  _ All because of his pride. 

For his pride, his own ideals and visions, blinded by betrayal and rage. His head spirals and spirals until he feels a tentative hand lay soft fingers across his jaw. 

“It’s not your fault either,” Tommy whispers, craning his neck to look at Techno. Techno wants to scream. Wants to disappear and throw himself into a hole and never return because  _ how _ could Tommy say that? 

Blue eyes watery and face flushed pink with tear tracks down his cheeks and neck, Tommy holds Techno in his hands as he threatens to fall apart. 

“I’m sorry for betraying you Tech,” Tommy’s eyes fill with more tears at the words and Techno watches. “For all of it, I’m sorry.” He sniffles and Techno feels like he’s in slow motion. 

Techno breathes, harsh and half crazed because Tommy has to be crazier than all of them to be apologizing to  _ him. _ He wants to laugh, he tries but it comes out more a wheeze than anything. He looks at Tommy, his weeping eyes are full of honesty, hurt, and something purely  _ Tommy. _

He doesn’t know what to say, he’s exhausted and drained and dealt with more emotion in the past hours than in his entire life. He tugs Tommy against him again, wrapping his arms around his limbs and squeezing, trying to remember the last time they’d even hugged. 

“You turned out the best out of all of us,” he says into the open air and smiling, small, when Tommy snorts against him. 

“Not that hard considering my competition,” his voice is tired but livelier than Techno’s heard since he showed up, cold and wet at his doorstep. He breathes deeply, filling his lungs completely as he tastes the words he’s long overdue of on his tongue. Bitter and bright and genuine.

“I’m sorry Tommy,”  _ For everything, every single damn thing.  _ “I wish I could do it all differently, I don’t know if I deserve forgiveness,”  _ He doesn’t really, at all.  _ “But I am, for hurting you, both of you.” It doesn’t feel like a weight off his chest, but it feels like a start, the beginning of a wound scabbing over. 

Tommy only breathes, fingers tapping against his skin as if pondering something. Techno doesn’t move, bones heavy and head pounding from emotional exertion. Feelings suck, he finalizes. A flurry of voices in the back of his head agree. 

“I think,” Tommy’s voice brings him into the present, limbs going numb, ass sore from his seat on the floor and shirt uncomfortably moist, still he doesn’t move. “I think Wilbur would want us to move forward.” 

Techno hums. “He would say something wise like that.” 

“He was pretty wise huh? Like an old, very very old, man.” He could feel Tommy smiling at his own stupid joke and he smiled back, though he’d never admit it. 

“I’m older than him, what does that make me?” 

“Oh, positively ancient, a relic, literal dust.”

“Nevermind I take it all back. I actually hate you.” He deadpans and Tommy laughs out loud, big and self satisfied and vibrant, like he’s supposed to be. 

Techno breathes. Tommy laughs. Things don’t feel so broken. 

Tender and sweet. 

-

Wilbur sits under the tree in his front yard, under the moonlight that coats his already pale skin, stark unnatural white. It nearly hurts to look at him.

Techno sits next to him, reading as Wilbur hums and digs his hands into the soft snow around them. He glances up every once in a while to check on the soft glow of Tommy’s room through the window. 

“It’s a nice night,” Wilbur says, voice sweet and giddy. 

“Hm,” Techno hums. He looks over at Wilbur, whose chest doesn’t rise, whose hair doesn’t flow with the scarce breeze, whose eyes and hands glow. Whose smiles are nostalgic and kind. He tries to remember the last time they’d spent time like this before _ everything.  _ He can’t remember and neither can Wilbur, he tries not to dwell on it.

He’s here now. Much too late but he’s there. 

He turns a page and nods. “It is a nice night.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Who needs canon when you can just write this? Also high five to the ppl who caught the dream cameo xoxo  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Zoldyke_)  
> come yell!


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